


flashes of love

by schrodingers_zombie



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 6000 Years of Miscommunication (Good Omens), Aziraphale Being an Idiot (Good Omens), Crowley Not Expressing His Emotions, Enemies With Benefits, Flashes of Love, M/M, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, it's technically not book canon compliant only bc y2k happens before the apoca-lapse, lovers to Lovers tm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 15:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schrodingers_zombie/pseuds/schrodingers_zombie
Summary: "flashes of... of love.""you're being ridiculous. the last thing we need now is-"as a being of love, aziraphale is very sensitive to the emotions of humans. sensitive enough that occasionally, he gets overwhelmed by all the feelings of love, only eased by the ways that humans generally ease their feelings. part of his arrangement with crowley, thankfully, is that crowley helps him out when it all gets too much.strange, isn't it, that these feelings of love happen to be strongest whenever he's with crowley? what an unusual coincidence.





	1. a prologue of sorts i suppose

**Author's Note:**

> so THIS is because my brain looked at the "flashes of love" scene and was like. hmm. what if crowley thinks aziraphale means he Wants Something in this scene. what if that's because aziraphale has a history of using "feelings of love" around him as an excuse because he's scared of admitting that he's Horny For That Demon. what if it's like, a thing that they do, before aziraphale acknowledges his actual feelings. what if it's part of their arrangement tm. and what if they're stupid idiots oh wait that last part is canon already  
this fic *doesn't* have any sex in it but just so you know what the type of relationship i'm going for: they do have sex. in the times we don't see, when this happens, they have sex. aziraphale thinks it's only physical. crowley thinks aziraphale wants it to be only physical. they're both wrong of course.

They had gone for oysters together, in the end. Crowley had rolled his eyes and grimaced and whined but he had acquiesced, finally, and let Aziraphale pull him to Petronius’s place. And they had enjoyed it. At least, Aziaphale has enjoyed it immensely. He was almost able to forget that they were meant to be enemies, that they were an angel and a demon, that they were contradictory at their very core. He could almost imagine that they were _just _two beings sharing wine and silly conversation and laughter. And food, of course. Crowley apparently wasn’t much a fan of actual eating, but he had gotten enough alcohol into himself* that he, giggling, actually _giggling_, agreed to try an oyster. His lack of experience and expectation for the slippery thing combined rather poorly with the inebriation, and quite a lot of oyster didn’t end up where it was supposed to. Before he could think about it, Aziraphale was reaching a hand out to wipe a little oyster juice from the corner of Crowley’s mouth.

“My dear fellow, you’ve—“ Aziraphale started, and then froze. An inkling of a feeling was burbling inside him. He flushed.

“That’s… odd,” he said. “I just had the strangest feeling.” He composed himself. “The people here… they must really, really like this place. Quite strong feelings. It’s an angel thing, you see, as a being of love I can feel… well. It’s a very… _charged_ atmosphere right now.”

Crowley’s expression was unreadable. When Aziraphale had moved back, he had almost imperceptibly shifted forward, leaning slightly towards the angel as if to balance the sudden motion out. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then his mouth quirked upwards.

“Yeah. Well, you know what they say about oysters,” Crowley said. He leaned back, putting his hands behind his head, and smiled lazily at Aziraphale, who sighed pointedly and innocently.

And the moment was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Occult – and ethereal – beings require much more alcohol than humans do to get drunk, but the Romans hadn’t quite figured out the concept of ‘cutting people off’, especially not people with such miraculously never-empty wallets. return to text


	2. the first real chapter

It was New Year’s Eve and Aziraphale and Crowley were getting very drunk at the bookshop, as – well, not _usual_, but certainly not _un_usual for them nowadays. Usual enough to get them into some very deep trouble if anyone found out.

Crowley had just returned from spending Christmas* in a little Welsh town, where he had carried out some miracles for Aziraphale. So: to show his thanks** Aziraphale had invited the demon to celebrate the start of the new year with him.

“It’s not like these calendars mean anything to us, angel. It’s a made-up starting point. I’m still not even used to thinking of it as happening in winter instead of fall,” Crowley had protested, and of course he was right, but Aziraphale had the winning argument of alcohol. So it was the evening of December 31 and they were pregaming on an assortment of strong wines, saving the champagne for midnight. Some fireworks were going off prematurely in the distance, but the best ones would come later, so they stayed inside for now. The ones that were really worth it always took their time.

“Okay, so. So. Yeah, I might have… I did some inner. Inter. I messed some stuff up. You know, the dates won’t switch right, they’ll be like… the computers say oh what’s going on, it’s the beginning of time again—“ Crowley waved a hand around as he took another sip.

“Oh, you wily sss—snerp… wiggly boy,” Aziraphale said.

“Shut up. Anyway. I thought all the computers’d do that and _pshewww_.” The hand made a half-hearted explosion-y gesture.

“No! They’d _explode_?”

“Oh. No. That would have been cool, though, wouldn’t it? No, I meant. Ugh. Society? Society would crumble, civilizations would fall. All that. Pshew. Lots of humans got all worked up, too. But I think I did it wrong. Nothing’s gonna happen. Big colossal waste of my time.”

Aziraphale very politely didn’t tell Crowley that most of his attempts at demonic behavior were largely wastes of time, and instead comfortingly patted Crowley’s legs, which were currently stretched on the angel’s lap.

“Not that I am in any way endorsing what you’re doing,” he said as carefully as someone as drunk as he was could, and filled up his glass. “But it won’t be _nothing_. I had to spend _weeks _inspiring people to fix that. Didn’t realize it wa’ _you_. Medical files, insurance… you made some, er, what’re they called. Computer people? You made them very frustrated, at least. Pass me ‘nother chocolate, dear, would you?”

Crowley gently tossed a candy into Aziraphale’s open mouth with the ease of someone who had done so many times. He had brought the bag as a New Years gift. It was that cheap American candy that Aziraphale would never admit to liking, but once nice and drunk they had finished more than half of it already, snorting in laughter whether or not Aziraphale caught the candy in his mouth.

An especially close fireworks explosion reminded them where they were very suddenly.

“’s almost twelve,” Crowley said. “Don’t forget the champagne.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and they were on the roof, along with two bottles of champagne, two flute glasses and a warm tartan blanket, which he immediately drew around both of them. Crowley wasn’t actually coldblooded in this body, but he was still sensitive to the cold, and at the sudden bite of chilly wind, he sat up and curled himself around Aziraphale’s warm soft body. His head rested on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and Aziraphale put an arm around him. Because of the chill, of course.

“You’re not too cold?” he said.

“Nah,” Crowley mumbled. “You’re nice. Warm.”

Fireworks burst in glittering colors on the black sky, and Aziraphale thought idly that they looked like stars. No, not quite like stars. More… artificial. More human. He liked it, that little element of imperfection. He filled the glasses unsteadily and passed one to Crowley.

They didn’t need to count down to the moment the years switched over. They could feel it. Aziraphale could _feel _it.

“People like to kiss now,” he said.

Crowley stirred under his arm. “Nnn?” he said.

Aziraphale flushed.

“I don’t mean—no. I just. I can feel it, all their love. All over the world, right at this very instant. So much… love.”

“Not really all over the world, angel. Just this time zone,” Crowley said and snuggled closer. “But yeah, I get it. Being of love.”

“Yes.”

Fireworks boomed.

Far below, on the street, some young people were singing Auld Lang Syne (although not what you or I would call _good _singing).

Aziraphale sighed loudly.

“What is it, ‘ziraphale?” said Crowley, just the barest hint of amusement slipping into his sleepy voice.

“It’s all this love. You wouldn’t understand, Crowley, you’re a demon. But it’s very… overwhelming. Very distracting.”

“Oh. _Oh?_”

Aziraphale’s chest was tight with the warmth of love, a tickling sort of pressure, like an embrace or a cozy fire or a sneeze that refused to come. He hesitated, trying not to misspeak within his haze of alcohol.

“Just… would you… mind?”

“What do you want, angel?” Crowley said, and Aziraphale didn’t need to look at his face to hear the smirk in his voice. He had shifted position so he was in front of Aziraphale, not touching him, but only a breath’s space between them.

Aziraphale grimaced.

“Really, Crowley. Don’t act like this. We’ve done this before. Can we just… get it over with? I’m not—“

He was shut up with Crowley’s mouth on his, quick and sharp, and then the demon moved lower, his teeth grazing at Aziraphale’s neck. And all of a sudden Aziraphale was on his back and Crowley was on top of him. His shirt was miracled open and he could feel Crowley’s hot breath on his skin between kisses pressed down his stomach. Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed softly, feeling the rush of love ringing out from across all of London at that moment flooding through him. The chill in the air thought about it and decided it would be best to leave them alone for now.

It was one of the most inconvenient parts of being an angel, especially when one spent so much time around humans. Their emotions were so strong. Contagious, even. And when a lot of humans around Aziraphale were feeling a lot of love or love-adjacent feelings – such as on Valentine’s Day, or at Queen concerts, or in one future unfortunate incident at the Olympic Village in 2012 – he would often find himself inconvenienced by having quite literally “caught feels” from them, and there wasn’t anything he could do but feel them through just like a human would.

A little after they started their Arrangement, Aziraphale had accidentally let slip to Crowley about the effect it had on him, and a few awkward interactions later it had become a normal part of the Arrangement. When Aziraphale would feel overwhelmed with the humans’ love, Crowley would help ease the tension. Just so he wouldn’t be distracted and uncomfortable. Just another thing to make their jobs easier.

And he certainly wasn’t distracted now, as Crowley pressed fluttering kisses to his throat, nipped at his chest. Surely it was making things easier*** as Crowley’s tongue traced snaking patterns down the trail of soft hair…

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “This love… I… it’s—“

And very abruptly, the warmth of Crowley’s skin on his was gone. Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open.

Crowley was stepping away, waving his sunglasses back on and adjusting his jacket in that way where he was clearly trying very hard to appear casual and nonchalant. His face was unreadable, but his movements were erratic. Anxious.

“Uh, look at the time. I’ve gotta—“

“Crowley, why… _where_ are you going? What do you _mean_?”

A moment passed and for a second Aziraphale thought that Crowley would come back, that they could finish, that whatever was wrong wasn’t actually wrong. But Crowley threw his hands up to his face.

“I can’t do this, angel,” he said, an uncharacteristically undisguised hint of desperation creeping into his voice, and walked away.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale again, knowing and not particularly caring that it sounded pathetic and needy.

But he was alone on the roof. He sat up, slowly buttoning his shirt back up by hand.

All of a sudden he felt cold, and very alone, and very, _very _unsatisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Unlike Aziraphale, Crowley didn’t care very much for the holiday, vastly preferring the holidays that were around before this one, and so didn’t mind working then. return to text
> 
> **And, although Aziraphale would never admit it, because he was starting to feel a little lonely. return to text
> 
> ***And not, in any way, harder. return to text


End file.
